


What If This Storm Ends

by Laeiphy



Series: A Swiftly Tilting Planet [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Belated!Fic, Gabriel Reyes isn't much better, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Morrison is an angry man, New Year's Eve, Overwatch boys bring the hurt while Angela tries to be comforting, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Unnecessary Descriptions of New York City during winter, Unreliable Narrator, drunk people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9934403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeiphy/pseuds/Laeiphy
Summary: Overwatch had better things to do than rub shoulders with the world’s elite and metaphorically kiss babies for New Year's Eve. But here they were, hurt children pretending they were ready to play in the real world. Tempers flare, and Angela discovers the first hints that Overwatch's command chain may not be as stable as assumed.





	

Angela Ziegler took a breath of cool, winter air as she passed through the delicate French doors. It was fresher than the ballroom that Overwatch had been invited to. It smelled like alcohol. Angela was not a fan of formal events, but they had been invited… ordered to show up by the UN itself.

She would reluctantly admit that the UN had not skimped on their rebuilt New York City headquarters. The new Overwatch headquarters, in Zürich, was state of the art as well, but not as opulent as the UN’s newly unveiled ballroom. Wide, pointed ceilings that mimicked a cathedral. Smooth, deep wood grain racing along the walls, and ornamental lights covering the place in a warm, cosy glow.

It was not the clean, modern aesthetic that headquarters had been modeled after. However, outside the party was just as breathtaking as inside, and Angela couldn’t help but stare as she walked down the snow-covered paths, wrapped tightly up and cursing herself for a strapless dress.

Lush gardens flourished, seemingly impossible in such thick December cold. Flowers bloomed, smugly mocking anything that could diminish their beauty. She could wipe snow off of a perfectly blooming rose, revealing perfect blood red underneath. It was impressive in its imitation, but was unnatural on a winter’s night. Angela pulled her thin shaw closer, it doing little to protect her from the biting wind.

They were in New York City, her third time visiting not for conferences or on Overwatch missions. The city was covered in snow, soft, beautiful flakes that prompted a shuddering chill down her spine even in the relief of being outside. Her heels were ill-suited to the gravel pathway of the garden, and she slowly picked her way along the path, aiming for more compacted areas from the partygoers before her.

At least outside was real, outside was alive if she looked up at the sky, Angela thought. She was worried her dress would be ruined, floor-length black, flowing out into feathery strands floating around her as she trudged through snow and breathed in the cold, biting winter air.

She looked like an angel in black, McCree had joked before they had landed in America. Angela only said he himself looked dashing, and he preened, strangely clean and hatless in a tuxedo.

Off to the side of the garden, Angela leaned under some floating statue for some relief from the slowly falling snowflakes and wind trying to drag her dress away. The floodlight illuminated the rows of UN sponsored art installations, but she threw herself into its shadow, unwilling to stand in its glare.

Overwatch had better things to do than rub shoulders with the world’s elite and metaphorically kiss babies for New Year's Eve. Overwatch had become the United Nation’s poster child for international cooperation.

While the Omnic Crisis had been officially ended earlier this year, Overwatch had been cleaning up the last scattered Bastion waves and assisting in cleaning up the chaos that the world had fallen into. Each of Overwatch’s members had been on endless missions over the last months, keeping her well busy.

But here, at the headquarters of the United Nations, it seemed like another world entirely. It was crushing in safety, they had passed through strict security that demanded Angela lose her handbag and Tracer had complained loudly when the men in black started poking at her accelerator. “Do ya think I strapped unstable radiation to myself _for fun_?”

The pale faces of UN security had made her smile hidden behind her small hand. Morrison had been less amused, but he had been irritable all evening.

Here, Omnics had never come close to wiping anyone off the face of the earth, they had never faced down a rain of bullets to save an injured man face-down the mud and sobbing for his life. Nobody here would ever be in danger that relied on their own wit and skills to escape from with their lives.

Yet, they stood getting drunk and politicking connections even now.

“I didn’t mark you as a brooder, Doc.” a deep voice came from just behind her. Angela jerked, almost losing grip on her phone in surprise.

“I never considered you as one stalking from the shadows, Gabriel.” Angela said, chiding. “Don’t you need to watch McCree and keep him away from the hard spirits?”

“McCree? Nah, he’s a big boy, he’s been through enough. If anyone has an issue with him later, that’s when I take it out of his hide.” Gabriel Reyes snorted, hunching his shoulders in a vain attempt at blocking the wind.

“So uh… why are you out here?” Gabriel asked, sheepish at his question, even if he had nothing to be ashamed about for asking. “Alone, in the snow?”

She sighed, clicking off her phone’s screen. “I needed a break from the politicians doing what they do best. Pretending they are the best in existence.” Angela said, somberly. “And the stench of alcohol has gotten to my head.”

“Not much of a drinker? I didn’t know that.”

“Unlike some people, there’s no healthy reason to hit the bottle after missions.” Angela said, idly clicking her phone’s screen on again. It was just after twenty-two at night, still hours left at the UN event that she was almost contractually obliged to attend. 

And she had a serious case of jet-lag, and exhaustion from a recent all-nighter she pulled getting paperwork approved before the new year. Gabriel leaned back, his drink sloshing a bit.

“Yeah, but there’s no reason not to hit the bottle, either, Doc.” Gabriel darkly muttered. His words slurred a bit, a faint reek of liquor from his clothing. “The things that I dream at night really need it.”

Angela spied the offending liquid in the glass Gabriel was holding loosely. The density was somewhere in between whiskey and water, but the color was a sickly, muddish-clear color. It must be awful tasting, her mind remarked.

It was only one night, she faintly tried to reason with herself, before sticking her hand out expectantly. Gabriel handed over the glass wordlessly, already sniffing out her intentions even while inhibited.

Angela took a sip, before coughing and sputtering as it burned down her throat. “Wh-what… ack— what did you put in this?” she questioned, finding her sinuses suddenly scrubbed clean just behind her nose.

“Little bit of everything they had. Some Italian diplomat was giving me the voodoo eyes while I was making it up.” 

“Mein Gott. This is an abomination.” Angela said, then took another sip. It went down a little bit easier than the first sip, but the taste made her regret everything she’d ever done that night. She shoved the glass back into Gabriel’s hand, and curled her lip as he took a full-mouthed gulp.

“Does this count as pre-gaming?” Angela asked, only a bit quipping. Gabriel laughed, warm and drunkenly that sent a hot flash through Angela’s spine.

“No, Doc.” Reyes gave her a mocking glare. “We are _long_ past pre-gaming. Overwatch will drink these cronies out of house and whatever budget they set for this party. Mark my words.”

Angela hugged her jacket to her chest to try and catch any remaining warmth that could have been hidden inside. “My toes have frozen in these heels,” she said. “I’ll be heading back inside.”

“I’ll come with you. Make sure no rogue robots pop up and try and get Doctor Ziegler first.” Gabriel said, pink-tinged cheeks flushed from the wind.

“In between what, thirty meters from here to the door? And, I’ve told you to call me Angela, Gabriel.”

He snorted, throwing back his head to look at New York City’s purple nighttime sky. “But that’s not fun,” he whined.

“Life isn’t fun.” Angela said, clicking her way down the path. They both reached the doors at the same time, but Gabriel stepped forward to grab the door before she could. He gave a mocking bow, waving her forward.

“M’lady.” he slurred. Angela giggled, then her eyebrows met in the middle. Damn Gabriel and his damn cursed mixology “skills.” She should avoid drinking anything more for the rest of the night.

Inside, the party appeared to have kicked itself into high gear. Even though it was a black tie-and-dress affair, leave it to politicians, famous people, UN officials, and Overwatch itself to fill a normally large ballroom to the brim with intoxicated adults… and teenagers. 

Angela spied Jesse McCree and his distinctive hat from just beyond the outside doors, surrounded by black dressed women and tuxedoed men both. Beside her, Gabriel bristled as he noticed the cowboy hat. “I told him—“ he growled “—if I saw the hat here, he was dead in next practice.”

“His admirers seem to not mind.” Angela leaned over, keeping inside their little bubble of conversation. You never knew who or what could be listening at these sort of events, mechanical or human.

“Will kill him.” Gabriel said, taking another swig of his glass, and then peering inside to check how much was left. “Later. Not tonight,” he muttered, giving a small stumble and seeming to process his state of inhibition with sluggish efficiency.

Angela scanned the room, before pulling Gabriel by the crook of his arm toward a human server. His tray was full of similar glasses to the one Gabriel had acquired. However, these were not full of whatever mix Reyes had created, instead just golden champagne.

“Now, I will be a classy drunk.” Angela said, taking a full drink from the glass, while the waiter glided away to another part of the room.

Gabriel patted her on the shoulder. “There you go, Doc. Drink up.” 

Then he shifted, slumping his shoulders as if bracing for a hit. “And if you don’t mind me excusing myself, I seem to be running low myself.” 

Angela raised her glass to his rapidly retreating back, his footsteps heavy but still sure of themselves. She couldn’t say the same about her current state, feeling a numbing sort of feel wrapping around her head.

Once a lightweight, always a lightweight. Why was she drinking? 

Alone, she was still being warmed up from the ballroom’s heaters and the crush of people inside. She tried to look around for familiar faces, without appearing to obviously to be alone. McCree had also disappeared into the crowd, his hatted head gone.

Only swirling dresses, suited men filled the room. And although she spotted some Overwatch staffers, a vaguely familiar politician and his actress wife, and armored security lining the side of the room, none of them were close enough to Angela for it to not be awkward.

As she took another drink of champagne, a familiar voice floated to her. Turning slightly, she almost came face to a surprisingly sober Jack Morrison and some greying old man enthusiastically conversing together.

“And Senator, meet Doctor Angela Ziegler!” Jack said, hand on the small of her back and pushing her into an awkward triangle with the two of them. “She’s our head of medical research, you’ve probably heard of her.”

“Ah! Yes, the Swiss doctor!”

“Yes, I even have a Wikipedia page now.” Angela joked. The Senator laughed, full-bellied and guileless.

“You joke, my dear, but we are forever thankful for your discoveries in the medicinal fields. Truly, we have you to thank for keeping the United States safe.”

“I cannot take all the credi—“

“You see, I was telling Commander Morrison here, and I’ll tell the same to you,” the Senator cut Angela off with the wave of his hand. “If you ever need anything from Congress, I and many others will be happy to sit down with you and work toward a common goal.” he beamed.

“That is very kind of you, Senator.” Angela said. The Senator’s last words were interrupted from a loud crash of glass from across the ballroom. Jack and Angela immediately scanned the room to find the threat, the Senator’s mumbling forgotten in the spike of adrenaline and fear.

The crowd cleared for a moment, and Angela’s sharp eyes caught the cause of the noise through a gap in a man’s elbow. A sheepish Lena Oxton sat on the floor, her fine black dress covered in red wine. Shards of glass glinted on the floor, and Angela’s heart jumped to her stomach with the realization that it may not all be red wine spilling over Lena.

Her eyes caught deep brown, a frown marring Jack’s face. “Oxton? What did she do?” he said, clearly annoyed at the pilot.

Angela waved her hand, already taking deep strides away from the bemused Senator and Jack Morrison. ”Lena is hurt, I’ll be back.” she said, thanking everything above for her exit cue.

She ignored the Senator, pushing past the well-dressed public members of the United Nations in her effort to escape the conversation. 

Would she pay for her supposed snub later, or would Jack’s frightful expression mean a meeting bright and early the next morning as payback? She instead took a large drink out of her glass, drowning her questions away. Not today.

The level of drunkenness had slowly increased over the hour, and the resulting atmosphere was almost thrumming with celebration and excitement. It was the new year, after all. And a momentous one: humanity had triumphed over the god AI programs finally. Years of war, bloodshed, and death was finally at its end.

It didn’t feel as impressive as it sounded, Angela thought, in retrospective.

The floor was slightly slick, and Angela’s heels were muted as she glided past loudly talking groups, and members of Overwatch pretending to be subtle while groping their partner in plain view. Angela, being tipsy already, didn’t have the heart to tell them to knock it off. 

Let them have fun for one night. If taking comfort in the bottom of a glass, or in the arms of another helped them sleep better, than she was not to judge. Somberly, she thought of Gabriel’s blood-shot eyes late at night, looking up at her with a hollow expression that no human should ever possess.

Angela fought her way across the crowded party to find where Lena was once sitting completely empty and clear. She spotted a human waiter turning the corner with a dustpan and broom, and quickly followed him into a side room, off of the main ballroom

There, her guess was correct. Lena Oxton sat perched on an abandoned table, chatting away at something to a rather put-out Winston. The scientist had elected to not show his face more than what was needed for obvious reasons, instead stating he had plenty of requisition paperwork to catch up on in a lounge area.

Angela didn’t have the heart to put him on show, as the UN expected them all to do. Jack had disagreed, but caved under in her firm stance that Winston’s wishes should be respected.

Tracer’s hand was already bandaged up, but confidently held her hand out for Angela to examine.

“Hiya! Took a bit of a spill, that I did. Get to sit out the rest of this blasted party, medical kit guy said!”

Lena’s voice came out in a long rush, but the gist was well understood. Angela huffed at the thought of being outdone by a random server and a medical kit, and slowly unwrapped Tracer’s hand, the cut glossed and facing upwards. She gave it a good peer, pushing lightly at the borders of the cut for any glass.

“Did he remove all the glass?” Angela questioned, turning her hand gently in hers. “What a nasty cut.” Lena shook her head.

“Said I was lucky, glass missed me. I’m too fast.” Lena boasted, and Winston laughed at her attempted bravado.

“Technically impossible to doge glass,” Winston said, chucking and pushing up his glasses. “But you regularly defy the impossible.”

“Aye! Flying the fastest planes on earth through the eye of a needle!” Lena hissed, as Angela pressed a tad too hard on her cut.

Luckily, Lena appeared to be glass-free, and the clear liquid bandage had formed nicely to protect the cut from any foreign bacteria or antibiotic-resistant bug getting inside and wrecking Lena’s immune system. Angela quickly wrapped the hand back up in the flesh-colored bandage, and patted it softly.

“You were very lucky. I was worried. Your dress, though?” Angela trailed off, noticing that Tracer had managed to find her leggings and an oversized sweater that looked like it could fit Winston if they popped a few stitches from the seam. 

Angela faintly thought of grabbing a pair of tweezers to check. She fancied the thought for a single heartbeat longer than usual.

“Ruined! Completely unusable, good riddance to that rubbish.” Lena said, glee undisguised in her tone. “Winston had a spare pair of my leggings, and I borrowed a sweatshirt from Gabe.”

“Gabriel had a sweatshirt on him?” Angela said, running it over in her head, trying to figure out how Gabriel of all people had snuck in a sweatshirt to a black-tie event. Even sober, she guessed that _that_ mystery would remain unsolved.

Lena’s mouth opened, to likely explain the tale of how one of Gabriel’s sweatshirts had passed through such tight security, when a sudden uptick in music swept into their sideroom. Angela leaned back, and saw the lights were slowly getting dimmer in the main ballroom, except for a stage area and a microphone.

“They are doing speeches now, I believe.” Angela said. “We shouldn’t miss it, didn’t Gabriel say he had a piece?”

“He wasn’t on the itinerary.” Winston said.

“Then we shall watch anyways. Come.” Angela said, standing and walking a few paces to the end of the hallway right before the ballroom. It gave the three a perfect view, and slightly more elevated than the rest of the crowd.

“I hope we’re not blocking the hallway,” Tracer whispered to them. Winston looked back, askance. “If we are, we shall move forward and clear the path.” he said, although he looked uncomfortable at the thought.

Suddenly, Gabriel slid up beside the three, as if he had always been there. “Gah!” Angela gasped, flinching at how close he was. Gabriel only took a swig of his glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his suit sleeve.

“Hey Gabe!” Lena said, giggling. “Whereya been?”

Gabriel grumbled for a moment, before sighing. “Trying to get drunk enough before they start the speeches. I can’t stand listening to talk. Boring.” he brushed his hand in the air, flippantly.

“Aren’t you… nevermind.” Winston said, quietly, as the ballroom had grown quiet, with only a few murmurs breaking up the quiet. A large, ornately gilded clock hung above the stage, showing the time to be eleven at night.

Light clapping started when it was announced that Gabrielle Adawe was taking the stage. However, whooping and stomping started when another figure joined her on the stage, a beaming Jack Morrison.

“The Under Secretary-General…” Winston breathed out, surprised. “This is unexpected.”

“She authorized Overwatch.” Lena said, practically squirming in excitement. “I’ve gotta shake her hand, this is once in a lifetime!”

The speech was normal political drivel: welcoming everyone and toasting to the new year. And to the end of the war. Angela drank to that. 

“What’s— uh… what’s Morrison doing on stage with her?” Gabriel slurred pointedly, his brown eyes scrunched like he was working out a complex algebraic problem. 

“He’s speaking with her,” Angela said, confused, as Adawe started singing the praises of Overwatch, and Commander Jack Morrison’s leadership.

“Uhghh?” Reyes said, as Morrison took the mic, thanking the Under Secretary-General for her time and leadership. Loud applause filled the room. Gabriel swore, the glass making an unpleasant sound as Gabriel’s hand tightened its grip. The glass finally gave out under his strength, and shattered in flying shards. Tracer jumped back in shock.

Angela gasped at the alcoholic mess sliding down his suit-pants, and all over the unfortunate Winston standing behind the man. “Gabrie— Gabe wait!” she said, reaching out as if to stop him, but he snarled at the doctor and she gasped again. His expression was furious.

“Uh oh.” Winston said quietly. Lena stood mute, stilled with the sudden tension in the room. Danger sung in the hallway, floating along like the distant chatter of the ballroom. “Angela, go stop him, delay him. Overwatch cannot have a fight tonight.”

“Yes,” she gasped out, and turned and ran after him. A few steps later, she kicked off her painful heels and scooped them up from the floor in one move. She could just barely see the back of Gabriel’s head, before rounding the corner into the ballroom proper.

The sight before her was Gabriel finding a surprised Jack Morrison before she could make it to them. Reyes snarled something low and nasty, before pulling his co-commander off from the group of partygoers that were around him. Their faces were half-curious and half-annoyed at being denied their audience with Overwatch.

She full-out sprinted back to the hallway, following Jack Morrison trying to quietly remove himself from Gabriel’s grip without making a scene.

“Reyes, what is this?” Jack said, the two and a trailing Angela finally reaching the sideroom. Gabriel flung Jack’s shoulder, setting him off-balance.

“What is thi— what the fuck was that?” Gabriel said angrily. “You knew I was supposed to be up there with you.”

Jack stood, jaw agape. “You are drunk!” he refuted, his hand out as if to keep Reyes back from jumping him.

“So?” Gabriel said, coming closer. He snarled, alcohol on his breath. “I can still stand there and look pretty. Useless.” he spat. Winston came up behind them both, and Angela shot him a pleading look.

‘Do something.’ her eyes said. His large, primate eyes only shook their head. He wouldn’t lay a hand on either of his commanders unless he needed to. Angela took a breath, before grabbing his arm, and holding on as he tried to brush her off. “Gabriel, stop this—“

“But no,” he continued, ignoring Angela’s protests. “You went and accepted all of my hard work as your _own_.” Jack shook his head, denial on his lips.

“Your work, my work, it’s all Overwatch’s. It doesn’t matter who’s name is in front.” Jack said, trying to back up from the corner Gabriel had thrown him into.

Gabriel pulled back the hand than Angela wasn’t clinging to, and flung a punch at Morrison. “It matters to me! Overwatch is _mine_.” he hissed angrily.

Winston moved into motion, grabbing both of Gabriel’s arms in a single hand, halting a second attack. The first punch landed firmly on Morrison’s nose, bending it with a firm snap. Blood started seeping from Jack’s nose, as he held his hand up to stop the flow.

“You fucker!” Jack bellowed, reeling back from the punch. “What the fuck?”

“Stole it! You stole it, you bastard!” Gabriel writhed in Winston’s hand, trying to throw another punch. His anger came off in waves, his eyes locked on Jack’s bloody face.

“Stole what?” Jack cruelly threw back, wiping the blood pouring down his face. “A drunk man’s legacy?”

Turning away, Jack’s back faced them for a moment as he surveyed the sideroom. His face was slightly pale, nose crooked, but still straight enough. Jack Morrison closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was back to being fully professional Commander Morrison.

“Winston, I think Reyes needs to leave. He’s completely intoxicated.” Morrison said. Winston nodded, conflicted. His glasses peered worriedly between his two commanding officers. Gabriel was still cursing, unaware of the rest of them, but out for more of Morrison’s blood.

“And Angela, you need to go with him. He’ll need to sober up, and you should check him for stomach injuries.”

“Stomach injuries? Alcohol doesn’t—“ Angela started, the screamed out as Jack slammed his fist into Gabriel’s stomach and ribcage, two powerful jabs that left Reyes sucking for air and temporarily limp. Jack reared back, shaking his fist as if in pain, but then swinging again to connect again with Gabriel’s rib.

Something shifted on the third punch, and Reyes head flew up, his eyes and mouth open in drunken pain.

“Jack!” Angela shouted, confused and angry. Gabriel moaned, hunched over and hanging in Winston’s arms, limp. 

One misplaced punch could have seriously injured Gabriel. Angela’s face was white. Lena’s eyes, forgotten in a side corner, were wide. The girl pressed harder against the wall, trying to stay out of Jack’s sight.

“That was for my nose, and my new year, fucker.” Jack sneered, before straightening up, wiping the remaining blood off of his face. He looked up, breathing heavily. Brown eyes connected with Angela’s blue, and she almost wanted to scream at him. Hit him, something… anything. She was numb, and hints of fear began to surface. 

Jack was a deceptive drunk, his breath lightly hinting at dipping into the same shattered champagne glass that she dropped somewhere during her chase of Gabriel. He brushed Angela’s cheek, and she flinched at the touch.

“Jac—“ she started, but Morrison shushed her with a quick motion.

“We need to talk in the morning. Yes?” Jack said, pleasant and steadily ignoring Gabriel’s wheezing breathing. Spikes of cold fear ran under her skin, warning signs.

“Yes.” Angela said, and there wasn’t anything else for her to say.

Jack smiled, and exited without a backward glance. Silence filled the room. Lena gasped out, her ragged breathing filling empty space. 

“Oh… my god.” she shuddered. Angela reached over, gripping her in a hug tightly. Now was not the time to dwell on these things, Angela thought.

“Come on, we must leave _now_.” Angela insisted quietly, to Lena and Winston. “We need to get Gabriel into a medical bay, and talk about this later. Not here.”

“Not here.” Lena murmured, wrapping her hands around herself. Short brown hair hang loose over Lena’s face.

Winston nodded, carefully shifting Gabriel into a more carrying instead of restraining grip. “I’ve got him firmly.” he said in way of agreement.

Angela shivered, the pleasant buzz of alcohol turned sour and frightening. Outside, the boom of fireworks and the sound of cheer celebrating the new year wasn’t carried to the four Overwatch members inside the United Nations.

This was not a good start to their new year, at all.

* * *

Gabriel gasped, his eyes fluttering open for a few moments, as he was laid on a empty hospital bed. Around him, Angela quickly worked to get an IV going with fluids and nanomachines to heal any damage Jack may have caused with his blows.

She was furious, even a bit scared of Jack, but angry at Gabriel for getting drunk. Luring her into getting drunk herself, but she could blame nobody for that but herself. He didn’t threaten her to drink, she had just started. Only trouble had happened after that.

Angela wasn’t even aware enough to catch Gabriel working into one of his rages, the fuzzy alcohol working its way out of her body even now. 

She should have… she should have… she should have…

And then, she even more worried about the meeting Jack wanted to have with her. There was an obvious tension in the air between the two commanders, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was more than two co-workers bickering, some deeper hurt and pain only alcohol could bring to the surface.

“Will he be okay?” Lena asked, sitting wrapped in a blanket next to the bed. Angela looked over and smiled softly at the pilot.

“He will be in working order soon enough. The IV will prevent him from the worst of the hangover and help repair any damage from… the blows.” Angela tried to comfort, patting her shoulder.

“Are you going to sleep in here tonight? I can look for a cot.” Angela asked.

“No.” Lena said tiredly, burying her nose in the thick hospital blanket. “This is fine. Don’t let Commander Morrison in.”

“I won’t.” Angela said, and her heart ached at the thought. “Goodnight Lena.” 

Lena’s eyes slid closed, and she murmured a quick ‘Happy New Year’ to the room before covering her head with the blanket. Gabriel slept sedated, it was the least she could do for his injuries. He wasn’t conscious enough for her to ask if he needed anything, but the man had escaped Jack’s fist with only bruised ribs and a splattering of red in the shape of a hand on his stomach.

Angela’s mind was still processing the fight. Her mind replayed Gabriel’s words, his punch, Jack’s revenge. Over and over, she turned all of her options in her head that could have prevented this whole thing. The rest of Overwatch was undisturbed from the party, and could be used to cover for the missing four. She imagined Jack was still shaking hands and doing what he could to appease the people who paid for their organization.

She was angry at everyone, except maybe Winston and Lena. Including herself. This could have been avoided, but it was something that had clearly been bothering Gabriel. If drink hadn’t sparked the fight, what would have? Why did Jack care about what she thought about him?

Would their commander’s working relationship ever be repairable, tolerable?

She looked over, the digital clock on a computer screen reading one in the morning. It was a new year, but she was afraid. Overwatch was the right decision toward ending the war, but what splintered relationship had appeared after the official end of their inception’s cause?

Gabriel shifted, face tensing up in pain while he slept. Lena made small sleep sounds in her chair, and Angela heavily sat down in the remaining empty chair.

Down below, out the window, on the other size of the grand courtyard, the ballroom was still lit up, the party still in full swing.

“Happy New Year.” Angela said softly to the room, closing her eyes to the beeping of machines.

**Author's Note:**

> notes:
> 
>   1. I’d imagine that Wikipedia is still the reigning king of encyclopedic knowledge in the world, years into the future. After all, Encyclopedia Britannia lasted for how long? And that was in _books._
>   2. Damnit, McCree! You were supposed to show up and talk somewhere, and give Gabriel a chance to blow off some steam. Alas, Jesse never came up and said anything interesting.
>   3. Jack is a scary drunk, Gabriel is an angry one. Angela… can’t process much while intoxicated, leaving an unreliable narrator and many questions. :)
>   4. Lena is a cheerful drunk, I’d like to imagine her and Winston sharing everything from eggnog to hard vodka. Of course, seeing your head commander assault your other head commander… she may need more than a bit of vodka.
>   5. In this fic we see a range of very bad psychological coping techniques, and not a lot of smut. There’s a second part that I intend to write, either her meeting with Jack or Gabriel after he wakes up. But god knows I’ve written enough serious stuff for a good while, and the world always needs more mercykill.
>   6. Spelling-related: did you know, drunkenness is spelled with two “n’s”? me neither. politicing, on the other hand, is NOT spelled politicking, spellcheck. wait, fuck, I just googled it. It’s politicking. fuck. Other words spellcheck has issue with? Omnics, Oxton, sideroom, nanomachines, and oddly enough: nevermind(????).
>   7. I originally intended this to be written by the time New Years rolled around. It’s now almost March. Well, better late than never.
> 



End file.
